Day 10: 17,492 Words and the Triumphant Return of Windigo Esmort!

Things went a little bit better today, mostly because I wasted time explaining how Windigo Esmort came to be Head of HR and Safety Officer at Jackie's Place. Honestly, I would love to share 98% of the excerpt, since 98% of it is inside jokes no one else will ever understand, but I have to stop somewhere. This is still a pretty long excerpt, so buckle up and grab a refreshment before you start (Unpleasant Tang, anyone?)

At first, Cass wondered if she and her fellow resisters had made a terrible mistake. Given the general stickiness, disrepair, and filthiness of the resto-lounge, her uneasiness was understandable. But there was something about the place that felt… safe? She hadn’t realized how hypervigilant she had become since that very first day back at work, at the Mandatory Return to Office Meeting, when everyone’s nervous system had gone into a permanent state of dysregulation. But here, where there was not a member of the Barnaby Secondary School administration to be found, and no children wearing rain jackets, and no pink-legging-ed children playing dead face down on the sticky floor (she shuddered at the thought), Cass actually relaxed for the first time in weeks. Sure, there was a man on a stool at the long wooden bar cutting a bar of Irish Spring with a knife in a mildly threatening manner. But who doesn’t appreciate a double dose of deodorant, especially in a place as malodorous as Jackie’s Place? Sure there was a decrepit looking eye wash station set up in a dusty corner that was setting off alarm bells (why would anyone need an eye wash station in a bar?) But who doesn’t appreciate a strict adherence to health and safety? Sure, there was a sign above the eyewash station (and she had to put her glasses on to see from this far away) that advised potential users away from the eyewash station (All Ye Who Use This Eyewash Station Be Flirtin’ with Death), but Cass had served as a faculty representative on the Joint Health and Safety Committee for 6 years, and she knew that appropriate signage was three quarters of the battle when it came to preventing workplace mishaps. Sure, there was a person at the bar, dressed in a manner that was completely at odds with the rough atmosphere, nursing a drink from a rusty (sharpened?) can. But who could begrudge a person dressed as fabulously as… wait, was that… Windigo Esmort????

Cass barely had time to react before she heard a screech of glee from the door. Berto had entered the bar and immediately clocked the figure, who was bedecked in a bright green wide rimmed hat (prevents sun exposure and looks fabulous) with a beautiful aqua scarf draped around the hat and cascading over the shoulder. The hat was smartly paired with a fitted black t-shirt bearing the words (Trans. Women. Are. Women), a statement so obviously true only one person could turn it into art. It was utterly stunning and Cass wondered briefly how it had taken her so long to notice Windigo, who was easily recognizable. These thoughts were swept away with a surge of pure joy as Berto burst into happy tears and rushed to Windigo. Berto and Windigo clutched hands and jumped up and down, tears streaming down both of their faces. 

“What? How?” Berto asked, breathless with excitement. 

Windigo quickly recounted their tale of redemption. How devastated they had been at being let go as costume designer for the theatre department at Barnaby. The previous season’s production of Mackers had been a triumph, with the iridescent cargo skort worn by one of the three witches hailed as the costume design sensation of the high school theatre season (by none other than crime reporter for the Toronto Star, Sophia “Scottie” Scott). Third rate chauffeurs everywhere had picked up on the trend, which obviously led to copycat designs spreading like wildfire. It had been the clothing item of the season during Hot Commie Summer, even worn as athleisure by employees participating in the many Mandatory Return to Office 5km “Marathons,” that had seemed to crop up everywhere during the summer of 2025.

Anyway. Windigo had been excitedly planning for this year’s production of the Phantom of the Opera, in which Windigo planned to have every character wear a mask and a waist-length cape as a statement about the alienation and loneliness that we all experience during late stage neoliberalism. Windigo and Berto had planned significant rewrites of the play, both to accommodate the radical costume design and to eliminate the creepy stalker-y behaviour of the title character. “I mean, we all learned something from Justin Timberlake’s creepy stalker video for Cry Me a River, am I right?” Windigo opined sagely. Everyone, including Jackie and the Irish Spring knife guy at the bar nodded in agreement.